


467. the forgotten son

by piggy09



Series: The Sestre Daily Drabble Project [51]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Gen, Prom is for LOSERS and you're not my REAL MOM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 21:00:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7817047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah reaches out, before Helena can, and taps the blank space in the photograph. It gapes between Sarah and Felix, almost big enough. If you squeeze.</p>
            </blockquote>





	467. the forgotten son

**Author's Note:**

> [warning: brief mention of abuse]

Sarah finds Helena paging through Siobhan’s photo album, sitting on Kira’s bed. She’s cross-legged; she seems fully intent on the pictures, Sarah at nine years old looking miserable in a dress and braids, Sarah and Felix laughing on the playground, Felix with his first attempt at eyeliner (not bad), Sarah with her first attempt at eyeliner (awful). Sarah stands in the doorway for a second and watches Helena -- the way she’s barely looking at the two of them in the photos at all, but the backgrounds instead. Her fingers touch skies and bushes and stars.

“What’re you doin’?” Sarah says, voice soft. Helena jumps anyways, _sorry_  written in the line of every single one of her bones.

“I wanted to see,” she says guiltily, “where I would fit. If I had. Um.” She stops. Resumes staring fixedly at the photograph: Sarah and Felix with their arms thrown over one another’s shoulders. No room in the middle. Only around the edges.

“Oh,” Sarah says. Swallows. “Yeah.” She doesn’t know what else to say, what to do with her arms. She folds them across her chest, but that just looks angry. Defensive. She drops her arms but that doesn’t work either. She doesn’t know what to say. _Sorry you were off being starved and beaten while Felix and I were having awful dance parties_  sounds -- well. Sounds _terrible_.

Helena nods, a pale echo. _Yeah._

“I always wanted a sister,” Sarah blurts. She pauses. She’d thought that saying that, having the words out there, would make it clear whether they were true or not. But no: her head is still a jumble. Yeah -- sometimes she had. Sometimes she had just wanted to be alone. But, you know. It seems like the right thing to say. 

Helena nods again; her eyes flick up to Sarah, beat dog. “I did,” she whispers. “Also.” And then her gaze is gone, to the roof timbers. Sarah used to lie on this bed and glare at the same ceiling, when she was fifteen and thought the world was out to get her.

What the hell did she know.

Sarah sits down next to Helena on the bed, for the same reason she’d said that -- lie? (She still doesn’t know.) They’re on the next page: a blurred snapshot of Sarah and Felix leaving the house, Sarah’s middle finger proudly extended. She’s dripping in spikes and leather. Oh. That was prom -- or, what would have been prom if they hadn’t ditched for some cooler party. Sarah reaches out, before Helena can, and taps the blank space in the photograph. It gapes between Sarah and Felix, almost big enough. If you squeeze.

“It was prom,” she says quietly. “You know prom?” Helena shakes her head. “It’s like -- a big party, at school, except it’s shite because none of the kids want to be there. Bad music and sad balloons and shit. Boys all -- sweaty, and awkward.”

“I would have gone,” Helena says, voice soft.

“Nah,” Sarah says. “You could’ve come with us, and -- gotten drunk on cheap vodka. Or something.” Truth: she doesn’t remember.

“Maybe,” Helena says lightly. “ _Or_  maybe I would have gone, and also made you come with me. To the sad party, with the sweaty hands.” She grins impishly at Sarah, and then brightens. “Oh! Sarah! Are those the dresses that shine. With sequins.”

“Yeah,” Sarah says slowly, stretching the syllable out, imagining that. Her first emotion is embarrassment, her second annoyance. Her high school self is sneering directly at Helena, face a mess of overdark makeup and fear. _Get out, get out, you’re nothing like me. Get out_.

Sarah swallows. “Bet you would’ve gotten the best one,” she says. “Bloody disco ball.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Helena says, voice fervent. She almost bounces with glee. Sarah sits on the bed, looks at Helena. In her head she can hear the echo of endless slamming doors. _I wish I’d never had a sister. Why are you so weird. Why are you so awful. Why won’t  you just_ go away.

She swallows. “You’re right,” she says. “I would’ve gone with you. You’re my sister, right? Coulda taught you how to dance.”

“I knew it,” Helena says smugly, but underneath that is something soft and sincere. She leans her shoulder into Sarah’s. The photo album is between them, teenage Sarah glaring and sneering and posturing and so, so terrified.

Sarah leans back. She wishes Helena would close the book.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please kudos + comment if you enjoyed! :)


End file.
